Poetry fucking corner

This post is probably cheating in the blog world, but to that, my only defense is: Say hello to my little pucker!

I actually wrote this for a creative writing class (unfortunately, not a creating writhing class) in college, and had it posted on my old web site. I felt like diggin' it up, because I'm so lazy tonight. It's kinda long, so feel free to take pee breaks between stanzas.

I've never been crazy 'bout the title, but I had to call it something for class, so I called it Of Bluebirds and Camels. If anybody gives a shit, ask and I'll tell you the impetus for this assignment and its result. Huzzah.

The sun didn't shine and the flowers didn't bloom;
The gaiety of Springtime was lost in the gloom.
Flapping as hard as his wings would perform,
A bluebird named Earl tried in vain to keep warm.
"I shoulda stayed South," he complained to the wind.
"Would a few extra days in the Keys be a sin?"
He staggered in flight and he lost altitude,
And screamed as he plummeted down, "Jeez, I'm screwed!"
But a jutting abutment cut short his descent;
His left leg was twisted, his beak somewhat bent.
Earl lay there a moment and pondered the edge,
For he'd landed on somebody's wide window ledge.
He peered through the glass and his balance gave 'way;
The girl in the room was a bona fide babe
Wrapped in a towel and completely alone,
Chattering into a mauve princess phone.
Earl caught his breath and regained his composure;
Then hopped on his right foot to get a bit closer.
He winced as he tapped on the glass with his beak;
The girl dropped the phone and went flush in the cheek.
She threw on a robe and stormed over to him
With fire in her eyes and a quivering chin.
"What do you want?" she demanded to know.
"I'm hurt and I'm hungry and dizzy and cold;"
Earl said, "Let me in where there's food and there's heat,
And a doctor can look at my leg and my beak."
She slid open the window with consummate grace;
Then backhanded Earl in the side of the face.
She laughed as he windmilled and went off the side,
His beady eyes bulging, astonished and wide.
She shuttered the window and flopped on her bed
With visions of bluebirds all mangled and dead.
Things went Crystal's way in her own private world;
This Crystal was not a considerate girl.
"I get what I want and I won't be disturbed
By some mangy, contemptible, miserable bird!"

The weeks lumbered past like a pregnant parade
And Winter conceded and withered away.
And out of the woodwork the young men came crawling,
At Crystal's back door every one would be calling.
With her drop-dead physique and her dig-your-grave face,
They were panting and drooling and mobbing the place.
With the music on low and two glasses of wine,
She'd invite them all up; well, just one at a time.
She'd just about finished with burly young Craig
When a voice from the window called, "Look at those legs!"
Crystal, astonished, fell out of the bed
When she gazed at the bluebird she'd taken for dead.
"Get away from my room," Crystal sputtered and squealed,
Then launched an attack with her five-inch spike heel.
The shoe missed its mark and the bluebird took flight
But Craig couldn't resume, dammit, try as he might!
So for seven days straight, Earl disrupted her play
'Til she finally erupted in frustrated rage.
She shrieked in a manner both grating and shrill,
"You've distracted my lovers and crapped on my sill!"
She slammed shut the window and sealed it forever,
Then drew in the shutters and nailed them together.
Time for one more - she retrieved a young man
Who was hairy and handsome and rugged and tan.
So between them they shed every last inhibition
And without interruption completed their mission.

Grinning and sweating from energy spent,
He lit up a Camel and lay back, content.
"Get dressed!" Crystal snapped; she was done with him now.
He threw down the butt with a blistering scowl.
She threw him his pants and he stomped down the stairs;
Crystal primped in the mirror and put up her hair.
The evening was over where she was concerned
While deep in the carpet the cigarette burned.
During her sleep the flames woke up and rose;
The acrid remains of his butt reached her nose.
And once she was conscious of flickering horror,
The orange wall had sealed off the room's only door.
"You can't do this to me!" Crystal shrieked at the flames
As she splintered a chair on the shutters and frame.
She swung and she swung 'til she broke through the wood;
Then she shattered the window the best that she could.
She clambered outside to a temperate night,
And her neighbors below laughed and said, "Serves her right!"
No one would help her come down from so high,
For in fact they were betting on whether she'd fry
Or jump to her death from the perilous perch
And be speared in the gut by the budding white birch.
They might have sold tickets and wedges of pie,
For no hearts would be broken to see Crystal die,
When a rustle arose and blue wings were unfurled
And there soared through the sky that same bluebird named Earl.
He flew over Crystal and dipped in the air
And gathered a beakful of Crystal's black hair.
He tugged and his eyes closed and Crystal swung free
As one onlooker shouted, "Don't drop her on me!"
But Earl bore her down just as gently as snow
And a foot from the ground was obliged to let go.
"I won't hold a grudge," Earl explained to the crowd
"She can't help it - she's gorgeous and snotty and proud."
A foot swung an inch from Earl's beak, but it missed.
He looked up to see Crystal, and, boy, she looked pissed.
"You pulled out my hair!" Crystal reached out her hand,
And she snatched from his beak only one brunette strand.
She bore down on Earl and she called him foul names,
And the house fin'ly crumbled, consumed by the flames.
A big chunk of stone caught her square in the head
And delighted the crowd with a fountain of red.
Earl scooted back and his tailfeathers twitched;
And he loudly remarked, "What an arrogant bitch!"